Out at the Old Ball Game
by MrsTater
Summary: Bruce and Natasha attend a Yankees game, but it's not just the baseball players who get on base.


_A/N: Back when I was writing chapter thirteen of_ Sun's Getting Low _, where Natasha takes Bruce to a Yankees game,_ _ **katla**_ _tried to talk me into having the Kiss Cam catch them. I was reeeeeeally tempted, because writing a slow burn romance with no physical payoff to keep it canon was a test of my shipper restraint, hehe. In the end, self-control prevailed, and there was no Kiss Cam because it would have completely changed the dynamic between Bruce and Natasha. But I promised I'd write the alternate version for her birthday, so here it is…an AU of my own fanfic, complete with a cameo of one of our other favorite Mark Ruffalo characters, Bert the Mall Cop from_ The Second Day of Christmas _, which is quite possibly the best worst 90s Christmas movie ever made for TV and on YouTube in its entirety for the interested. I hope the fic is everything you hoped for, my dear. 3_

 _(And if you readers aren't familiar with katla's work, you should go read it_ right now _even before you read this fic. I promise, you won't be disappointed. One of the best in the BruceNat fandom!)_

 **Out at the Old Ball Game**

 _COOL DOWN_ flashed in green digital letters across the treadmill screen. Though he was getting used to the training regimen Natasha put him on, Bruce nevertheless huffed out a long grateful breath that his workout was coming to an end. Slowing his strides to match the speed of the treadmill, he grabbed his towel, rubbed it over his sweat-slicked forehead and face, the draped it over the bar again. It slipped, fluttering to the floor, but he left it alone till he finished the cool down.

Stepping off, he stooped to retrieve it, toweled off again, and took out his earbuds as he finally faced Natasha-not without a prickle of self-consciousness about the broad line of sweat down the front of his t-shirt, while she looked as cool and put-together as ever despite having exercised twice as long as him.

"Park for lunch?" he asked.

Natasha looked up from her phone and slipped it into the pocket of her light blue hoodie. "Do we need to find a new one, since Greenacre let you down?"

For the past couple of weeks, ever since their heart-to-heart over apple pie about her feeling of being adrift after the fall of SHIELD, they'd been making almost daily post-workout visits to Bruce's favorite park near the Tower. Yesterday they'd learned that the pie wasn't homemade, but frozen, from Costco. Bruce opened his mouth, intending to retort that he wasn't actually the food snob she gleefully accused him of being.

"Because if we do," she went on before he could get words out, "I know one. A _ball_ park, anyway." Her hand came out of her pocket, holding up what appeared to be two tickets.

Not having his glasses, Bruce took a step closer to her-not _too_ close, though, aware that he was probably pretty ripe-squinting as he leaned in.

"Are those Yankees tickets?"

"This afternoon's game. Are _you_ game?"

"Yeah, definitely," he replied, eagerly-maybe a little _too_ eagerly, if the subtle upward hitch of her eyebrows was any indication. But it was difficult not to contain his enthusiasm that Natasha was apparently taking his advice to heart about taking the time to enjoy New York while she figured things out.

 _Is that_ all _you're enthusiastic about, Banner?_ he heard his own voice ask as he inspected his reflection in the bathroom mirror after his shower, attempting to tame his hair.

He shook his head, as if he could shake the thought out of his mind.

"She's just a friend," he answered himself, aloud. As if to prove the point, he gave up on his hair, settling for pulling a baseball cap on over the damp curls instead.

He second-guessed this fashion decision when he stepped off the elevator in the tower lobby and her eyes flickered to the cap, lips pressing together as if to hold back a laugh. Soon enough Bruce had more pressing concerns, such as riding the train to the stadium and passing through the security checkpoint at the gates without incident. As when they sneaked into the Fridge, her fingers closed around his wrist. At first her touch quickened the flutter of his pulse, but the stroke of her thumb soon steadied him.

By the time they found their seats-third base side, second deck, a far cry from seats Tony would have gotten behind home plate, but also far less likely to land them on TV-he felt relaxed enough to initiate small talk during batting practice.

"I have to say, I'm kind of surprised you're a baseball fan."

Not as surprised, however, as he was when she replied, "I have a fantasy team. Well- _had_. Only made it as far as the SHIELD league draft before there was no SHIELD league."

She went quiet for a moment, looked a little sad even as the teams left the infield so the groundskeepers could water and rake the dirt for the game. Bruce cast about for the proper sympathetic reply, but his face still must have registered surprise, because Natasha shrugged.

"I like statistics and programming. I track player stats, and I wrote a program to help me pick a good team."

"You realize how incredibly nerdy that is, right?" Bruce said, unable to hide his delight at this revelation.

" _Is_ it nerdy to always win, though?" Natasha swung her legs up to prop her feet on the back of the as-yet empty seat in front of her.

"Depends what real prize is."

"Cash. To take the losers out for drinks."

"That was sporting of you."

"Oh, no. I didn't do it to be a good sport. I did it to annoy the other agents. SHIELD was as full of true blue baseball fans as Hydra agents. This one agent, Grant Ward, has a killer jawline, and it does a really neat thing when he's irritated. And Coulson…"

Her voice softened as she pronounced the fallen agent's name, not quite wobbling, but almost. In her pause, Bruce wanted to reach for her hand, to stroke his hand across the delicate bones of her wrist in that same soothing gesture she'd used on him. He refrained, and, composing herself, Natasha continued:

"Coulson had a rant he'd trot out after a couple of beers… _Baseball's not a game of the mind, but all about the heart_. We called it his _Field of Dreams_ speech."

"Sounds like good times," Bruce remarked. "You know, if you like programming, I-"

"Ladies and gentlemen," the announcer's voice echoed over the PA system, "at this time we ask that you all please rise and direct your attention to home plate and please welcome Bert Sanders, who will sing our National Anthem."

"Who?" asked Bruce, taking off his cap as he stood as a serious looking man in a blazer lifted the microphone and began to sing "The Star-Spangled Banner."

He tried not to cringe through the off-key rendition, but he thought if the subway and ballpark security hadn't put him in danger of Hulking out, this did. Closing his eyes, he tried to tune it out, which proved easier than expected since beside him, Natasha sang softly along in a pleasant alto.

The singer's final flat note-not as flat as the high note on _the land of the free_ -was swallowed up by the roar of the crowd. Not unusual at sporting events, though Bruce couldn't help but think that this time they weren't cheering for the singer, or even for America, but because they were so grateful it was over.

"Where'd they find that guy?" he asked as the singer walked off the field, adjusting the lapels of his blazer.

"Stopping looters after the Chitauri invasion." Natasha watched him put his cap back on.

Bruce gaped at her for a moment, then shook his head slightly as he felt his mouth relax into a grin. "You're pulling my leg."

"No, I'm not." Natasha resumed her seat, frowning at the back of the person who claimed the seat in front of her. "I read about him. He was a security guard at some department store, from a family of cops. Moonlights as a lounge singer. Not exactly New York's Finest, but…."

"Okay for a day game?"

"Imagine if they knew there were Avengers in the stands."

The way her eyes sparkled up at him as he lowered himself into his chair made him sit on the arm rest instead of the seat. Luckily it was on the aisle, so he didn't have to deal with the awkwardness of having sat on a fellow spectator. Only almost knocking over a beer vendor who bellowed, " _Watch it, bub!"_

"My voice wouldn't exactly bring down the house," Bruce said, sliding sheepishly into his seat. "Probably a good thing, since the Other Guy does enough of that. You'd be great, though. I didn't know you could sing."

Natasha smiled at the compliment-almost shyly, he would have thought if he didn't know better-but said, "If we're discussing pitch at baseball games, I'd rather throw out the opening one."

"You've got a good arm, so there's no way you wouldn't get it over the plate." Unlike the current ceremonial first pitcher, who thumped it a few yards short of the bag. "Still, I'm glad we haven't been outed to a crowd of thousands."

Since the Battle of New York, Bruce had been more or less ensconced in the Tower-like a fairytale princess, except more of the Shrek variety than the Disney. Even his more recent outings with Natasha had been to secluded places. Despite his initial discomfort at being in the middle of so many people in Yankee Stadium, by the time they were several innings into the game, he remembered the comforting anonymity he'd found in the big cities he'd settled in when he was on the run. In addition her company, the ambiance of the ballpark itself put him at ease. The crack of the ball against the wooden bats, the jaunty electric organ tunes between batters…The smoky smell of hot dogs-and the taste, because he couldn't resist getting one, even though Natasha teased him again about the Greenacre park apple pie and his foodie cred…The touch of the summer breeze and the beat of the sun…All of it lent to the carefree atmosphere.

The last sensation did clue him in to one care, though: he wasn't wearing sunscreen. Both of them should be. Especially Natasha. Bruce studied her, trying to decide whether her cheeks were red from the heat or because she was getting burned. How would the Black Widow react to a friend being concerned about the effects of the sun on her pale complexion? He could picture the look she would give him quite easily, and vowed not to mention it. When she raised a hand to shade her eyes from the glaring afternoon sun straight ahead of them, however, he couldn't let that go.

"Want to borrow this?" He took off his baseball cap and offered it to her.

She eyed it, then him. "How chivalrous, giving yourself hat hair for me."

"Do I?" Bruce's free hand shot up to rake through his hair. "Have hat hair?" Definitely it had been a mistake to put a cap on when his hair was still wet…

"A little. And thanks, but I have sunglasses."

As she rifled through her purse, Bruce settled the cap back on, awkward as Natasha turned her attention back to him rather than the game. Somehow, her scrutiny unnerved him even more than usual with her eyes obscured behind the dark lenses. He tried to make out his reflection in them.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

"What's the story with the cap?"

"Don't I strike you as the hat wearing type?" he asked, then added, "Because you're right. I'm not…except when I'm trying to be incognito."

Natasha pressed her lips together. Laughing, no doubt, about his attempts to elude SHIELD. _We never lost you, doc._ The back of his neck prickled.

"No," she said, "I mean, you're from Ohio. Shouldn't you be an Indians fan? Or the Reds?"

"Oh." Now Bruce felt self-conscious for getting defensive. He tugged at the ends of his hair which the hat smooshed down against his the back of his neck. "It wouldn't have been very smart to wear a Reds cap when I'm pretending not to be Dr. Bruce Banner from Dayton, Ohio, would it?"

"Thinking like a real spy there, Doc. What better way to blend in with the population of New York than as a Yankees fan?

"You know what they say…when in Rome."

"What about when in Rome you're on the Kiss Cam?"

The smile froze on Bruce's lips. "Wha…What did you say?"

In answer, she nodded toward the Jumbotron directly above right field. He turned his head to look and heard the ripple of laughter all around them as he found himself goggling up at an image so gigantic it made even the Big Guy look puny by comparison: he watched his own eyes round, jaw slacken as he saw himself on the video screen. Not only his face, but Natasha's beside him, the picture framed by a heart and bubbly text that read _Kiss Cam_.

The laughter of the crowd melted into to a chant: "KISS! KISS! KISS! KISS!"

Neck and ears burning, Bruce tore his eyes from the screen and looked at Natasha. "We're not…I mean…"He licked his lips, which had suddenly gone dry. "Do you want…?"

She took off her sunglasses. "What do _you_ want?"

He wanted the Kiss Cam to leave them, to move on to some other couple-not that they were a couple, which was what he'd been trying to say.

"KISS! KISS! KISS! KISS!"

He wanted to kiss her.

The realization came as something of a surprise to Bruce, given the undercurrent of tension that characterized their first weeks together in the Tower. Or maybe that had been the reason for the tension all along. Or part of it. It wasn't like he hadn't thought she was beautiful the first time he set eyes on her in Kolkata. Beautiful-but not to be trusted. The latter part was no longer true, of course; the former, however, seemed to have grown more so.

Even more surprising was the realization that Natasha wanted to kiss him, too. At least, that was the only thing he could conclude from the way her head tilted slightly and her gaze dropped to settle on his lips. He licked them again, huffed out an exhale through his nostrils, and leaned in.

"When in Rome," he breathed.

Instead of the touch of her soft lips, the bill of his Yankees cap bumped against her forehead.

Bruce apologized, amidst laughter, the crowd's and Natasha's, only hers was as soft as her touch as she reached up to sweep his hat off his head.

"You'd kiss a guy with hat h- _mmm_ -"

His words were muffled by the press of her mouth, lips parting slightly against his, sliding together…The roar and wolf-whistles of the crowd receded beneath the pound of blood in his ears.

It had been so long since he'd kissed a woman, and it was over before it had scarcely begun. When it ended Natasha drew back only slightly, to look into his eyes, still close enough that he could feel the warmth of her breath on his face. Shallow, quick breaths, like his.

"That was…unexpected," he said.

"And changes things."

Changed _every_ thing. Bruce caught his breath, swallowed before forcing himself to say what was necessary, though not what he wanted to say. "It doesn't have to. This could just be a-"

She gripped his hand. "It does. And…I'm okay with that. I've been looking for a change, remember?"

He shook his head. Of all the changes she could make in this city, _he_ was the worst. But her smile, tiny at first, gradually widening, made him abandon any thought of arguing with her out loud. Instead, he watched her put his cap on, making a face when he warned her she'd get hat hair, and turn her attention back to the field.

They'd only been watching the game for a few minutes when Bruce's phone rang. He pulled it out and saw Tony's name on the screen, and toyed with not answering it, but he knew that would only result in Tony calling back until he did.

"You're at the Yankee game with Romanoff?" he said before Bruce could even get out a _hello_. "Why didn't you tell me? I could've gotten you actual good seats. Where are you, upper deck, third base side?"

"How do you know I'm at the Yankee game?" Bruce asked, glancing sideways at Natasha, who kept her attention on the game. "And where I'm sitting?" Tony was in Malibu, for crying out loud.

"Um…that would be because you're trending. Note the ING, not Y. Although Romanoff's trendy, if a little unbalanced on the side of riding boots and leather jackets."

"Trending…You mean _trending_ ….on Twitter?"

"Hashtag Hulksmooch."

Bruce's fingers curled so tightly around the phone that he hung up on Tony-although he probably would have anyway, if he'd thought about it. "Oh God," he mumbled, hunching forward to bury his face in his palms.

"Stark knows?"

"He wanted to tell me we're trending," Bruce replied. He turned his head, still in his hands, toward her, where she was already looking at her phone. "And to say he approves of your fashion sense."

"I can go out with my head held high," she deadpanned, fingers typing away. "Hashtag Hulksmooch. Aw, there are people more clever than Stark in the world."

"Don't tell him that."

There were more where that came from, from #hulksonfirst to every imaginable celebrity couple portmanteau of both their real names and alter egos, and lots of baseball metaphors of varying degrees of tastefulness. It wasn't just the Twittersphere, either. Someone who was probably still in this stadium had-of course-recorded the Kiss Cam and uploaded it to YouTube, where it was already going viral. All the major entertainment outlets were showing it, even ESPN.

It was mortifying-or would have been if Bruce weren't so dizzied by everything that was happening, and the speed at which it was happening, not least of all the lingering effects of the kiss itself, the memory of her softness and warmth still tingling on his lips, making him long for more.

He could think of a hundred reasons why this was a terrible idea, the media accounting for a lot of them, but thankfully at the moment people were mostly just excited about a superhero romance.

With the exception of Bert the singing security guard, who'd tweeted: _No one's talking about the Yankees' appalling security situation? Human weapons in the stands!_

"Time to go?" Natasha asked, offering Bruce his Yankees cap. He reached out to take it, only for her to withhold it. "Only if you're planning to kiss me again, off-cam."

"None of this was really the plan, but…yeah. I am. I mean, I'd like to, if you do…"

Smiling, she handed over the cap, and when he put it on, she took his hand as they beat a hasty incognito path up the steps toward the exit at the top of the deck.

They were making their way down the concrete walkway to the ground floor of the stadium when Tony called again.

"When did this happen, anyway?"

"Just now."

"Didn't I tell you she was going to spin a web for you while I was gone? Well, if this is going to really be a thing, brace yourselves for Cap's inevitable lecture about office romances. You could beat him to the punch by going to Maria for all the necessary paperwork. I'll even give her a head's up if you want."

"Thanks," Bruce said, glancing sideways at Natasha and squeezing her hand, "but I think for now we're just happy to try to get to second base."

"Ew! TMI, Banner! But also: if you don't win…it's a damn shame."


End file.
